


foxes in the snow

by thefudge



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: (how to cope with grief: write more beth/borgov obviously), (the M rating will make sense later), F/M, Love/Hate, Napoleonic Wars, Tolstoy has left the chat, War and Peace-inspired, ost: dario marianelli - she is of the heavens, period au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: She knew she ought to appear sweet and amenable, as her aunt often instructed, but at the moment, she wanted nothing better than to scratch out Colonel Borgov’s frozen blue eyes.  (War and Peace AU)
Relationships: Vasily Borgov/Beth Harmon
Comments: 55
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> at this point, i assume everyone is used to me barging in the tag with yet another beth/borgov AU, but yall don't seem to mind, so I am taking this opportunity to foist on you an honest-to-God period piece that is, obviously, Tolstoy-inspired. There will be all sorts of winks and nods to War and Peace throughout this 4-part series, but you don't need to be very familiar with it. I hope Count Lev won't be turning in his grave. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

i.

The woods rang with distant gunshots. Liza raised her hands to her face. Her fingers smelled of lead and feathers. She hated these hunting parties. Her mare trotted anxiously in place. Liza lowered her hand and stroked the animal’s side reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, Grusha, we’re far from danger.”

Yet they had to witness it still. They could not stop the men from shooting down the birds. Nor could they prevent them from going after the foxes. She was not a kind-hearted girl. She did not weep for their dead little bodies. She simply thought it all barbaric and stupid. If you must kill an animal, don’t make a spectacle of it.

Grusha suddenly pivoted, darting away from an icy snag of brambles. Liza held the reins fast, but she was distracted by the flash of red and silver. A beautiful fox crossed their path like a bolt of lightning and plunged desperately into the snowy undergrowth, tail swishing in its wake. Liza almost fell off her horse. She could hardly breathe.

The sight felt oracular, like an image in a dream. Her aunt Alyona often sat with Masha, the old cook at home, and they poured over their interpreter of dreams, a tattered little notebook that provided the reader with the ensorcelled significance of every possible creature under the sun, living or dead, which might appear in a dream. Liza could not remember what meaning was usually assigned to silver-red foxes, but it could not be good.

And anyway, she was not dreaming, was she? Sometimes her aunt chided her for having her head in the clouds, but she was only thinking. She did not escape into another world. She simply thought about this one a great deal. There was a lot to think about.

Moments later, she heard the baying of hounds and the angry gallop of horses, churning the snow black as they went. The hunting party was upon her before she had time to recollect herself. Leading the charge was the wiry and handsome blond officer, Boris Ivanovich Drubetskoy, known to his circle as “Benny”. The name had been Galina “Jolene” Karagina’s clever idea. She had given all her friends English names because she said she was bored of French, and anyway, weren’t they the enemies now? The names had stuck, somehow, not least because “Jolene” was a lovely young woman of marriageable age and considerable means who liked nothing better than to test her bevy of suitors and see who cracked first. Liza often felt like her suitor too. “Jolene” had given her the weighty name of “Beth”, which had secretly delighted Liza, though she pretended she was perfectly indifferent.

Now Benny and Andrei “Arthur” Levertov drew a halt before her, giving the signal for the rest of the men to stop.

“ _Daragaya_ Beth, have you seen a pretty little fox dash by? It was the color of your hair.” Benny winked at her.

Liza did her best not to blush, though her complexion certainly did not help. The cold had already turned her cheeks apple-red. But this was nothing unusual. Benny always flirted shamelessly because he had nothing to lose. Jolene did not need to warn her. From the moment she had met him, Liza had guessed his ambitions. He would only settle for a brilliant career in the Army and a very rich wife. As Liza could offer neither, she was just a pleasant distraction.

She drew herself up on her horse. “I did, in fact. It was quite lovely. She went that way.” Liza pointed in the opposite direction, as far away from the animal as possible.

Benny grinned, tipping his astrakhan cap at her, and the party gave shouts of joy, bounding along the path she had shown them in a burst of boyish impatience.

Liza smiled a small smile as she watched them go.

The older gentlemen rode behind. They were a more dignified group who were less concerned with the hunt than with talk of politics. The war was constantly on their tongues. One of them in particular looked at her as he trotted leisurely past. Liza had seen him before, always with a slight jolt of trepidation, for he was the most severe-looking man she had ever clapped eyes on, more severe even than the Church Patriarch who constantly warned the faithful of the deep pits of hell in which they were bound to burn. His dark hair and stark, finely lined face were made quite forbidding by a strong jaw, a brooding mouth, and a pair of ice-blue eyes which seemed to always seek out the weakness in others. Vasily Stepanovich Borgov was not a man to be trifled with: cousin to Prince Bolkonsky, adviser to the Tzar, and high-ranking Colonel in the Army. His wife had died in childbirth some time ago and he had become even more withdrawn, tight-lipped and unimpeachable. It was only recently that he had rejoined society. War often had a revitalizing power over young and old. Privately, Liza thought it noble that he had been so deeply affected by his tragedy, but many who knew him said that was just his way and that he had never been very much attached to his wife. He would soon get another. He was hardly a sentimental man. Yet Liza did not believe it could be so simple.

She wondered now what had drawn his formidable attention to her.

Vasily Stepanovich’s eyes raked over her impassively. He faintly shook his head, as if he knew something was amiss. He knew that she had lied. Liza’s heart sped up. He could not know. She lowered her head, unnerved by his piercing stare. But then, she thought better of it. She had done nothing wrong. She lifted her chin defiantly, looking back at him.

 _I’d take the fox over you, any day of the week_ , her steady gaze seemed to say.

Vasily Stepanovich looked away first, which felt like a small victory. He nodded and rode past her, as if dismissing her entirely.

After they were all gone, Liza patted Grusha’s side again.

“It’s all right. They won’t catch the fox.”

But her mare was perfectly content to scavenge for blades of grass under the snow, worrying little about the fox. It was Liza’s heart who still pounded in her chest.

Aunt Alyona liked to brag that Count Luchenko still carried a small torch for her. That was why she and her niece were never left behind when the Count sent out invitations for the winter sojourn at his house in the countryside. Even though Alyona and Liza lived in genteel poverty, their family had once seen better times, but with Liza’s parents dead and buried and with Aunt Alyona’s husband having run off to Paris with a younger woman and died there, the two women were more pitied than respected. Still, Alyona had hopes that she might find Lizaveta a good husband among their old circle, despite the faint smear of scandal and poverty that followed them everywhere, which was why Liza had to be on her best behavior and look as sweet and innocent as a snowdrop. This was quite difficult for Liza to accomplish. She was not naturally sweet or innocent. She frowned more often than smiled and was quicker to anger than patience, but a lifetime of habit had forced some manners in her. Galina Karagina’s glamorous friendship had certainly helped. As she carried the small basket of mushrooms, Liza thought with pleasure of the letter she was going to write her friend.

Having visited Count Luchenko’s comfortable house and holdings so many times, Liza knew her way about all quarters, including the servants’. She entered the courtyard through the hedge stile and ran past the stables, making a beeline for the kitchen door where she knew she would be welcome. Aunt Alyona often warned her not to tarry there too long, for fear of being taken for a servant, but Liza had promised the cook she’d look for saffron milk caps and she had found quite a bounty.

The cook and her army of flour-fingered peasant girls and boys were preparing the hearty supper for the hunting party. But a warm bowl of milk and oats had been saved for Liza, because the cook liked her best. Liza dropped the basket on a chair and thanked her nicely, but her eyes were drawn to the cutting board where several headless chickens waited their turn. And next to them –

Liza’s heart lurched. The red and silver were unmistakable.

She shot from her chair. “What – what is that doing here?”

“Ah, the fox. The men brought her in just now. She’s still warm. Pretty thing.”

Liza swallowed thickly. Her fingers reached for its elegant, vulpine head, but she shrank from touching it. “But I thought – I thought they wouldn’t – it’s such a small thing.”

“Not so small. A fox’s meat can last you a few days if you know how to tender it. And besides, we’re to skin the pretty fur as a gift for the Countess. Not a bad find, over all.”

Liza felt sick to her stomach. More than sick, she felt cheated in some obscure way. The fox was supposed to get away. She had made _sure_ of that. She mumbled a few meager goodbyes and left the kitchens in a whirl. All the way to hers and her aunt’s room, she kept her hands balled into fists.

When she made her late entrance downstairs, Liza was still thrumming with dissatisfaction. She had put on her best evening dress, but she kept pulling little threads from the sleeves, just to tear something up. Aunt Alyona signaled her to her side and questioned her tardiness, but thankfully, the salon was busy with talk and drink, and her aunt was too distracted by both to give her a lecture.

They talked of the hunt, of course. Count Luchenko wanted to hear all about it, as his gout prevented him from joining both the young and the old on their wintry capers. Benny was in high spirits, recounting their adventures.

Liza’s ears pricked when the officer mentioned the prize of the day, the red and silver fox.

“It was all Vasily Stepanovich’s doing,” Arthur Levertov chimed in. “He had the God-sent perspicacity to turn his horse in the exact opposite direction from ours. He called out to us when he’d cornered the fox. It was quite a thing to see!”

Everyone’s gaze turned to the taciturn Borgov who stood by the fireside, arm resting on the mantelpiece, face sober and unresponsive. There was only a small tug on his lips in acknowledgement of the deed.

“Vasya’s instincts, sharp as always,” Count Luchenko commented with relish.

Benny was the only one of the party who looked rather displeased with the sudden praise lavished on Borgov, but it was nothing to Liza’s ire.

She could not believe it. It had been _him_. He had done it. He had guessed her deceit and had gone after the fox. But why? He had not seemed interested in the hunt, preferring to ride more sedately with the elderly gentlemen. Why had he gone after the poor thing?

 _Horrid man_ , she thought, glaring at him outright. She knew she ought to appear sweet and amenable, as her aunt often instructed, but at the moment, she wanted nothing better than to scratch out Colonel Borgov’s frozen blue eyes.

He must have sensed her palpable fury, because he turned his head an inch towards her.

Liza quickly lowered her head and looked elsewhere. She felt the flint sharpness of his eyes, that indomitable gaze. And she suffered it until the conversation changed course and he was called to speak about other matters.

Countess Luchenkaya and her sister had plenty to discuss regarding the season in Moscow and Aunt Alyona and Liza were soon consumed by the gossip, but Liza could not forget nor forgive the great, _personal_ affront she had undergone. Whenever she could, she snuck glances at Borgov and childishly wished him ill. Sometimes, when she wasn’t looking at him, she felt the steely touch of his gaze on the back of her neck and it made her shiver slightly, but she was never sure if she was only imagining it. She realized she was being foolish. It did not do to feel so intensely about such things.

It was almost a relief at supper when she could not meet his gaze any longer since they were seated far apart, though, judging from the way she viciously plunged the knife into the stuffed bell peppers, it was clear for anyone to see that she was not done resenting him.

“You’re rather like a Cossack with that knife, Beth,” Benny teased her, catching her eye across the table.

“Then make sure you're not on the other end of it,” she replied, forgetting her manners.

Benny was delighted with her pertness and laughed and toasted in her name.

Aunt Alyona poked her under the table.

 _What am I to do with you_? The poor woman kept wondering.

Liza could only fume quietly. She could not see Vasily Stepanovich, nor could she see the faint, undecipherable smile on his lips. 

She thought he must find her a curious, childish thing, not worth the bother.

That night, released at length from the social obligations and Benny’s careless flirtations, Liza sat down at the small writing desk and began penning a letter to Jolene. Her aunt’s snores punctuated each word. She used the most descriptive epithets imaginable to paint a ghastly picture of the greedy old Colonel Borgov who had selfishly killed her pretty fox. But when she read it over, it made little to no sense. It was too vindictive, too strange. Liza tore it up, feeling suddenly very alone.

She crawled into bed next to her aunt and put her head on the pillow. She did not know what was in her heart sometimes. A curious darkness seemed to overtake her, even when she was at peace. Sometimes, she was as clean as the snow outside, but it only took a small incident to muddy her, to make her soul feel heavy in her chest. She wanted to be free of something, but she could not name the burden. 

All of this would pass, she told herself. Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that too, every day the same, she thought with a sigh.

She fell into a violent sleep.

She dreamed that she had shed her skin and her hair now covered her body in a beautiful pelt, bright red with silver streaks. She dreamed she was running through the snow and a great black dog was chasing after her.


	2. Chapter 2

There was always a draft in this part of the sitting room, or so her aunt protested. That was why Alyona reclined swaddled in shawls and housecoats and fingerless gloves and thick socks for her feet. Liza did not feel the cold so severely. When her mind was occupied with the pieces on the chessboard she forgot about the empty fireplace. They could only afford to keep a steady fire in their bedroom, but what did it matter? Her mind worked better when the air was sharp and smelled of snow.

“Are you paying attention, Aunt?” she protested when the older woman moved a knight carelessly. “That was an obvious mistake.”

Alyona moaned, leaning back in her chair. “I can hardly think, my dear! Why do you torture me so?”

“This is hardly torture. I’m only trying to teach you.”

“I am too old for these games. And you move the pieces so fast. I barely have time to wonder what I shall do next.”

“I will try to go slower, but you must pay attention.”

Aunt Alyona heaved a weary sigh. “It’d be far better if you practiced your piano.”

Liza smiled. “I’d rather listen to you, Aunt. You play so wonderfully.”

This evidently pleased her aunt. It even made her blush, though the old woman tried to hide it under her shawls.

“Come now, beat me quickly, so we can play something together.”

Liza needed no further invitation. In three moves, she had trapped and ravished her aunt’s king.

Afterwards, they sat together at the ramshackle piano which was perennially out of tone and tried to cobble a melody together, her aunt hitting her lightly over the fingers when she mistook her scales.

Liza bore it all amiably enough, but her mind was still on the chessboard. Lonely winter evenings in Moscow went by much faster if one was occupied with a difficult game. Unfortunately, Liza’s aunt was never much of a challenge and the visitors who came to their shabby apartments never stayed long enough. “Benny” had promised to drop by this evening after he was finished entertaining the glittering ladies and mustachioed diplomats at Anna Pavlovna Scherer’s salon. Liza was not looking forward to his attentions, but she was eager for a game of chess. She liked him best when they were playing, for he was clever and often set traps for her which she did not always see. Benny found her predilection for chess to be one of her more exotic charms, something not very sensible or serious, but rather a lady’s trick to keep him entertained. In his vanity, he believed she played in order to flirt, but the truth was, Liza often flirted in order to play.

Halfway through a new song, little Katya, their nimble and constantly put-upon maid, barged in to say that there were gentlemen callers waiting admittance.

Liza rose quickly, going to the chessboard in preparation, putting all the pieces in place, but Aunt Alyona frowned. “Gentlemen? Is it not just Boris Ivanovich?”

“He has brought another young man with him, ma’am.”

Another young man set Aunt Alyona’s wheels spinning. She was suddenly much more vivacious and less cold, dropping at least two of her shawls on the back of her chair and going over to her niece to look over her attire. She found it suitable enough, though she would have preferred Liza wear her hair up.

“You always do know how to complement your figure, Lizoshka,” her aunt commented proudly, for though Liza could not afford new dresses, she did make the best of what she had. She had an innate sense for fashion, but her aunt suspected she simply liked clothes and did not always understand that the men around her were supposed to like her clothes too.

Point of fact, she did not understand why her aunt was fussing over her now. Alyona knew that Benny would never seriously consider her niece for matrimony and so she had stopped hoping anything would come of it. She had even comforted herself with the fact that Liza might do much better. But a novel young man could be a hidden opportunity.

Benny swept into the room with the usual pomp and self-regard that the women had come to expect of him. He kissed Aunt Alyona’s knuckles as if they were rubles and he took Liza by the arm and made her do a small pirouette.

“Do you see what I was saying, Harry? Natural dancer this one.”

Liza blushed, annoyed, and almost missed the earnest-looking young man hiding behind Benny.

“Ladies, may I introduce my esteemed friend and colleague, officer and poet Henryk Beltik. He is of Polish extraction, I’m afraid, but I hope you will not hold that against him. To make up for his faults, he has made sure to inherit a modest estate in Kursk. At the risk of sounding very droll, he really does have a Russian soul.”

Alyona scolded Benny for making the poor young man feel self-conscious, but felt very happy to have a modestly rich man under her roof, Polish or not. Harry Beltik, on the other hand, looked just about ready to have the ground swallow him up. He haltingly introduced himself to the women and bowed very precisely to Liza, before brushing his lips faintly against her hand. It was obvious he was trying to repress a naturally nervous spirit. 

“You said you are a poet, Mr. Beltik?” Alyona inquired.

“Oh, no, my friend here claims I am a poet, but I merely write verse to occupy my mind,” Harry stammered, looking at Liza, watching to see what she might think of that. 

“What sort of verse do you write? Liza and I enjoy poetry very much.”

Liza knew this was a patent lie, but there was no contradicting her aunt when she was making conversation.

Benny clapped his friend on the back. “He could you read you some later, or better yet, recite it. Harry has a beautiful voice.”

Alyona looked pointedly at her niece. It was her turn to say something complimentary. Liza smiled a small smile. “I do like beautiful voices.”

Harry blushed. Benny chuckled, thoroughly amused. It was, admittedly, a stupid thing to say, but Liza had never been good at conversing with anyone, really. 

Alyona called for tea and rum and they all sat in front of the fireplace which now had to be hastily lit by Katya. Benny pressed Harry to sit next to Liza, but the poet was not given much opportunity to speak to her, because Benny launched into a colorful tale in French about Anna Pavlovna’s dinner party. He told them Madame Scherer could not wait to return to court at Saint Petersburg, for she was the confidante of the dowager empress and she hated to rub elbows with the commercial likes of Moscow, but it was business and the selling of property that had brought her to the lesser capital. Benny continued in this fashion, uninterrupted, for he liked nothing better than gossip and aunt Alyona ate up every single crumb.

Liza stared at Harry from the corner of her eye. When their gazes met, she gave him a hesitant smile. _Isn’t he rather ridiculous sometimes?_ she conveyed with her eyes. But Harry did not find his friend ridiculous. His wide blue eyes had a wet consistency, as if he was on the verge of tears. He looked more like a renegade priest than an officer-poet. 

Liza might not have been adept at parlor games, but she realized Benny had brought his friend as a suitor for her, as if to say “look, I will not marry you, but here’s a man who might”. She supposed she ought to be grateful, but she only felt vaguely humiliated. For Benny hadn’t only thought of her, he’d thought of Harry too. A young man like him would have already been snatched up by a society mother, but his being half-Polish probably deterred the usual husband hunters. Perhaps Liza, who, though poor could still claim a good name, was the woman who would accept him. Liza suddenly felt sorry for herself and Harry. They were like pawns in Benny’s grasping fingers. She decided to be kind.

“Do you play chess, Monsieur Beltik?” she asked him in a French imitation of Benny.

“Please call me Harry,” he replied in French. “I suppose, sometimes, to pass the time in the field. Why? Do you play?”

Liza nodded eagerly. “I like it very much. There is…poetry in it, if you understand my meaning.”

There, her aunt would be proud of her. 

Harry smiled, uncertain. “I think I do. Poetry is made up of fixed lines and rhythms, and so is chess.”

Liza’s eyes lit up. Though she considered this to be a slightly limiting description, it still pleased her.

“Shall we play a game?” Liza asked, casting her eye to the small table by the curtains where the pieces were lying in wait.

Harry looked over his shoulder. He blinked several times and nodded, though not very enthusiastically. Benny hardly looked up when the two of them retreated in the corner. Alyona smiled an anxious smile. She hoped Liza would be sensible enough to let Harry win the game.

But it was not to be so. Liza could not bear to lose a single game. Harry was nervous from the beginning, especially when he saw how quickly she moved for an attack. He lifted a piece and put it back down.

“If you touch a piece you’re supposed to move it,” she said, clasping her hands together.

Harry nodded, sweat glinting off his forehead.

A few minutes later she had cornered him. It would take two more moves to knock him down entirely.

“But how – how did I get here?” he wondered to himself.

Liza tried to explain, but he waved her off. “I understand how you beat me. It’s just – it happened so quickly.”

Liza blushed. “I study the game a great deal. Just as you compose verse, I make up strategic moves.”

“Hmm.” His tone suggested he did not like the comparison anymore.

“Shall we play again? Now that you’ve warmed up.”

Harry’s cheeks turned a ruddy red. “I-I believe the result would be much the same.”

Liza tried to encourage him, but it was no good. His ego had been hurt in a very impersonal way, which made it much worse. It was not she who had insulted him, but his own lack of skill. He nodded politely and slunk away from her, rejoining her aunt.

Benny noticed his downturned mouth.

“I see you have been thoroughly pummeled, Harry. That’s Beth for you. She can be quite merciless. But I shall avenge you, old man. Beth, darling, set the pieces aright.” 

And avenge him he did.

Benny did not even sit down. He stood with his back to her, facing her aunt, as he continued his amusing tale regarding the newcomer, Pierre Bezukhov, and his newly inherited title. From time to time, he looked down at the game and moved a piece, seemingly at random. Liza was flustered. His callous attitude only made her want to win more.

Naturally, she lost.

He had toyed with her in a way she could only see once her defeat was final. Liza leaned back in her chair and sulked.

Benny smiled broadly. “You must not be upset, Beth. It’s bad for your complexion.”

She glared at him in a most unbecoming way.

Benny kept smiling, though his smile was cold. He was slightly annoyed that a young woman of limited means should act as if those limits did not exist.

“What _would_ help your complexion is a nice evening stroll in the fortifying winter air,” he proposed, trying to placate her. “Shall we all go? What say you, Alyona Sergheevna?” 

Her aunt was delighted with the suggestion, but she begged to be excused, for her old bones could not suffer the cold winds anymore. Better for the young to enjoy the winter night, she thought. And so Liza found herself in the vestibule, being helped into her coat by Katya as her aunt fussed over her fur cap. She took this moment to whisper in her niece’s ear, “why don’t you apologize to Harry and make him like you again, hmm?” before she let her go.

Liza did not know how to go about doing such a thing. She could not stand to beggar herself, and apologizing for beating him at chess would only make Harry more cross. Something in her that was instinctive – call it feminine wiles – believed that the best plan of action was to let him do the talking, let him apologize for her, let him persuade himself he liked her.

And so the trio walked out into the snowy streets, leveled by the assiduous work of burly snow-diggers and thickset sleigh-drivers and their steam-breathing horses. Liza found a fresh, untrammeled patch of snow. She sank the tip of her boot there.

Benny walked over the glimmering whiteness and made it dull.

“Perhaps your aunt shouldn’t have let you walk with us. Who know where we’ll take you, Beth.”

“As long as there are young men involved, she’d be happy to let me go to hell.”

Harry laughed weakly at the joke.

Benny grinned. Sometimes, precisely because she was untutored in the ways of society, she said some very outrageous things. He took one of her hands and placed it in the crook of his arm and he instructed Harry to do the same.

The boys dragged her rather forcefully down the street. Sometimes Benny tugged her in his direction, sometimes Harry did.

Soon, all three of them were laughing, mainly because Benny was so good at imitating one of the reedy Austrian diplomats at Anna Pavlovna’s party. As if drawn to the main event, they found themselves walking in the vicinity of Anna Pavlovna’s apartments. The party was still in full swing as they passed under the well-lit windows. A string quartet could be heard dimly from within. They stopped to listen. Liza disentangled herself from their grip. Benny muttered how he would go back up there for a trick and no one would even notice he’d been gone.

Liza stared up at one of the tall windows. She flinched. That profile was familiar. That stern face she’d recognize anywhere. Borgov was standing by the window, talking to another man. She could see the chandelier light reflected in his medals.

Liza suddenly wanted him to see her, to notice her standing there. She bent down and gathered snow in her hands. She made a snowball. Pulling back, she aimed for the window, but it was too high. The snow hit the frontispiece underneath.

Yet, despite her failure, Colonel Borgov noticed. His eyes lowered as if by instinct and he looked down at her. He saw her through the glass.

Liza stood very still. There was snow on her fingers.

His eyes looked dark from afar.

She braved his steady gaze. She wondered what she looked like to him in that moment, a very small ant trying to upset a bloodhound.

There was no kindness for her in his gaze and yet, there was something about his absolute focus that almost felt like respect. As if she wasn’t just a silly chit who had tried to throw a snowball at him. As if she were a worthy adversary. 

It was Benny who broke the spell.

“Oh, there’s Borgov, posing for a statue at the window. Does he never get tired of himself?”

“What do you know about him?” Liza asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“What everyone else knows; that he’s a miserably boring sod.”

 _No, not boring_ , she thought. She did not know why she was so sure of it, but she was.

Harry complained that it was getting too cold. His nose was awfully red. Benny laughed.

“What do you say, Beth? Shall we go to hell to warm ourselves up?”

Liza looked up at the window again. Borgov was gone.

Benny tried to grab her arm to reel her back into their trio, but Liza dodged quickly and took a few steps back. Benny went after her, but Liza picked up the hem of her coat and started running in the opposite direction. Benny and Harry gave chase for a while, thinking this was only an amusing game. Women liked to be chased, didn’t they? But when they saw Liza was in earnest, they stopped running after her.

Benny cursed under his breath. Harry watched her disappearing figure in awe.

Liza ran all the way home, breath turning to ice in her lungs. Though she knew she looked foolish, she felt almost exhilarated by the exercise. A fox in the snow. 

She did not tell her aunt she had run away. She told her she had charmed Harry Beltik.

Liza shivered under the blankets that night, thinking of Colonel Borgov at the window and wondering why she was thinking of that awful man at all.

Harry Beltik sent her a short missive a few days later, thanking her for her splendid company. He also attached a rather long poem to go with it. Liza read it to her aunt dutifully. The poem was about a snow queen who came down from the heavens to bless the happy few and fled at midnight. Liza was evidently supposed to be the snow queen. He had underlined the word “queen” in ink. Liza thought of their game of chess.

Her aunt yawned halfway through. “What a pretty poem. What will you write back, Lizoshka?”

Liza might have agonized over the right words, but her response was delayed significantly by the news that arrived fresh the next day and was all over the papers. The call to battle had come. The regiments were to march on Austerlitz where the Austrian and Russian armies would face the pestiferous Corsican himself in what was hoped to be a decisive battle.

That same day she received a hastily scribbled note from Jolene Karagina, asking her to come visit her immediately, for she was in town and needed urgent advice. Her horse sleigh had already arrived at the door to collect Liza.

“Darling, he wishes to marry me sometime today or tomorrow, before he leaves for Austerlitz!”

This was the news Jolene greeted her with at the door.

Liza gathered she was talking about Benny.

Jolene took her by the hand and led her into her private rooms. They sat together on Jolene’s bed, for that was where the impetuous young woman felt most confident making decisions.

“What do you think I should do, Beth? I’m quite mad about him, but he is a renowned scoundrel and a very fickle personage.”

Liza wanted to remind her that Benny was fickle in all things, except money and social standing. As long as he was guaranteed both, he would not hesitate. But that did not leave much in the way of romance.

Liza chose her words carefully.

“I believe he is quite steady on you, Jolene. He may flirt and strut about like a peacock, but…he only wants you, I believe.” Which was true enough.

“Yet isn’t it too hasty? Marrying on the eve of battle with no guarantee that he will return to me?”

“It is, but I’ve heard that war tends to hasten all things.”

“Yes, for muzjiks and provincials, but not for those who stand to lose a lot from marrying.”

“If you feel you are losing something, then you should not marry at all,” Liza suggested.

Jolene rested her head on the pillow. “Women always lose in marriage, don’t you know?”

Liza looked away. She did not need to be reminded. She knew her own marriage, if it ever came, would be a grievous affair.

“By the way, Benny’s told me about Harry. He said he wrote you a poem over five hundred verses! Is that true? Is he in love with you already?”

Liza blushed. “The poem was not that long.”

“But you’ve made a conquest of him, haven’t you? You could do a lot worse, you know."

Liza narrowed her eyes. "Did you put Benny up to it? Finding me a suitor?"

Jolene looked down coyly. "I might have suggested it in passing, but he took my idea and ran with it. He decided on the young man himself. Have I done wrong, Beth?"

Liza shrugged helplessly. She could not be entirely upset that her friends were trying to find her a suitable position, yet she was not happy either.

Jolene nudged her. "Perhaps Harry will also ask you to marry him on the eve of battle.”

Liza startled. “How _awful_! I really hope he does not. We barely know each other.”

Her friend smiled. “It’s always better when you don’t know each other.”

And for some mysterious reason, Liza thought of Colonel Borgov. He would be preparing for the march too, wouldn’t he?

“What will you do, then?” she asked Jolene, chasing those thought away. “Will you rush into matrimony?”

“I’ve written to my grandfather and he does not entirely approve, but he does not say no either. I think he would like to see me married sooner rather than later.” Jolene’s much esteemed and perennially ailing grandfather was her only remaining living relative which was rather convenient for an heiress such as herself.

“Then you have his reluctant approval.”

“I do. But oh, Beth, I almost wish he had forbidden me.”

Liza smiled. “You would have already been married by now if he had said no. You like going against the grain.”

Jolene reached out for her friend and pulled her into an embrace. “I wish I could marry you instead. Wouldn’t that be so much nicer?”

Yes, nicer, perhaps, Liza thought, but love was rarely nice.

“Shall I be invited to your secret ceremony then?”

Jolene blinked back a few tears. “You will be right by my side, of course.”

Liza left her for the day, promising to return in the evening to help her dress.

As she sat in the sleigh and blinked away the sun reflected in the snow, she inspected her feelings regarding the entire affair. No, she did not care for Benny in that way, though she was not immune to his charms. She would not be sad to see him wed. On the contrary, she would be happy for her friend. But would it be a good marriage, after all? No one could say. Just as no one could say what would happen at Austerlitz. She uttered a small prayer in her head for all the young men she knew. And then she quickly included Colonel Borgov’s name, almost as an afterthought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there'll be a lot more beth/borgov goodness next chapter, I promise! thank you for reading <3


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